★★★

“The central performances belong to Tyler and Rooney. They are on fire.”

Crocodile Fever is a chaotic drama set in chaotic times about chaotic family relationships. Meghan Tyler’s play, first shown at the 2019 Edinburgh Festival Fringe, is enjoying its London premiere. It is set in a family household in Northern Ireland in 1989 – that is, in the midst of the ‘Troubles’, a euphemism for the violent conflict of the times.

Younger audience members (and even some not-so-young) might benefit from knowing something of the background and history of those times because there are references – for example the sinister memory of the ‘knock on the door’ in the night – that are easily missed yet will enrich understanding of the play.

What makes Tyler’s setting relevant are the underlying themes of oppression, abuse, dysfunctional sisterhood and casual horror. These are ably exploited by Arcola’s co-founder and artistic director Mehmet Ergan and his production team, and cannot help but recall other situations where these elements of war continue to be present. Altogether, however, it is hard to place the play neatly into a genre. Is it a metaphorical family drama, a black comedy or a grotesque absurdist play? Crocodile Fever defies categorisation, by intention.

The action opens in a pristine kitchen (set designer Merve Yörük deserves a mention) where pious sister Alannah (Rachel Rooney) is obsessively cleaning. She has tight control over her environment and wants to keep it that way, although we have early indications of a disturbed mind. Into this order, bursts Fianna (Meghan Tyler), out of a long term in prison and at the opposite end of the personality scale (apparently) to her sibling but wanting to renew their connection. She believes that their father died in a confrontation with the ‘paras’ (paratroopers) so is shocked to find out that he is, in fact, living: upstairs in the family home. Fianna is his long-suffering carer.

At this point any realism in the play starts to disintegrate, slowly but believably at first, and chaos takes over as the interaction between the sisters twists and turns helped by old songs, alcohol, quick fire dialogue and snatches of history that are hard to keep track of. We are on a track to horrible happenings. The father (brilliantly played by Stephen Kennedy) is the reptile in the attic and must be dealt with. His appearance towards the end of the first act is a shock. And from there on, there is a rapid descent of the action into gore and strange symbolism.

The central performances belong to Tyler and Rooney. They are on fire. Rooney, in particular, shows an extraordinary range of comic expression (a touch of the Mrs Doyle?) and, despite the absurdism, is then convincing in her portrayal of release and disintegration. She doesn’t let the flamboyant acting of Tyler as Fianna hog the limelight, as could so easily happen.

Yet, somehow I felt there should be a magnetism exhibited in the sister relationship (whether repelling or attracting) that somehow failed to materialise. It may be that the play, in dealing with so much, lacks a central focus and resolution. This could leave one feeling dissatisfied at the end; nevertheless, the overall impression is of a drama that is tackling big subjects in an innovative way so, if it loses its way a little, well isn’t that what happens in times of terrible conflict?

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Arcola Theatre

★★★

“the play, having built a world so rich with eccentricity, opts for a resolution that feels strangely cautious”

Thomas is working from home. He has been for years. But practitioners of this common condition will know immediately that something isn’t right about Thomas’s WFH set-up.

There is no pile of damp laundry, no mewling toddler pawing at his ankles wanting Bluey on the iPad, no mild burbling of Test Match Special in the background.

Quite the opposite, in fact.

In designer Mike Britton’s blistering set, Thomas’s home is antiseptic white. Clean-lined desk and chair. Laptop and phone. There’s a wall of white Ikea type cupboards upstage (which become a minor character in their own right thanks to Chris Davey’s clever lighting) and, finally and most impressively, the remarkable wipe-clean vinyl floor.

We meet fastidious Thomas with his mop shoes on, choo-chooing around the space, spritzing invisible germs with a bleach cleaner. Top half: shirt and tie for the Zoom; bottom half: boxers and bare feet.

Thomas tells us about life in his canal side apartment and, more particularly, we learn about his work in IT through video calls and emails, which he recounts to us with a bitchy relish. Actor Paul Keating does his best work of the hour as the office gossip, relaying who’s in and who’s out and the rise of the dreaded Naomi, the new COO.

He loved the office. He misses the sense of community. He was “the only person who reads the manuals” so he was on hand with the coffee maker and the faulty printer. He was a stalwart of cake-based gatherings and bantz.

Award-winning playwright Michael Wynne has a pitch-perfect ear for the soulless, jollying-along jargon of the modern hybrid office – “you’re on mute” – and later, when things turn dark, how this hollow dialect becomes the banal language of corporate oppression and bullying.

Because Naomi has Thomas in his sights. Oh yes, Thomas is next for the cull. There are meetings with the “Head of People”, bogus allegations of incompetence and his sociability is weaponised as inappropriate.

Thomas is defined by his job, so without it his sequestered life collapses into drift and disorientation. He loses perspective…

And here, sadly, is where director Lucy Bailey’s vivid and sharply designed production begins to falter.

Perhaps the surreal brilliance of Severance or Brazil hovers overhead and infects our expectations – because by now, with the eye-scorching whiteness of the set, the emptiness of corporate speech, and the quirks of isolated Thomas, we’re primed for something stranger.

But the play, having built a world so rich with eccentricity, opts for a resolution that feels strangely cautious. Thomas’s descent gestures toward a dramatic rupture but lands on something more recognisable – a soft undoing, wrapped in quotidian trauma.

Take, for example, Clive the four-foot cactus, headliner, and a prop of prickly promise. It remains just that – static and symbolic, never quite earning the weight the play seems to assign it. We keep waiting for the twist, the outlandish transformation. It never comes. It is briefly a metaphor – life is spiky, brush it the wrong way and it wounds – but then it retreats into anonymity.

None of this reflects on Keating’s personable, warm-hearted performance. He is a winning presence, never better than when re-arranging his baked beans “labels out”. The production is a short, witty takedown of WFH signifiers. It just runs out of invention 20 minutes too soon.

CROCODILE FEVER

Arcola Theatre

★★★

“The central performances belong to Tyler and Rooney. They are on fire.”

CROCODILE FEVER

Arcola Theatre

Reviewed on 23rd October 2025

by Louise Sibley

Photography by Ikin Yum

Previously reviewed at this venue:

CROCODILE FEVER

CROCODILE FEVER

CROCODILE FEVER

CLIVE

Arcola Theatre

★★★

“the play, having built a world so rich with eccentricity, opts for a resolution that feels strangely cautious”

CLIVE

Arcola Theatre

Reviewed on 1st August 2025

by Giles Broadbent

Photography by Ikin Yum

Previously reviewed at this venue:

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